LEPERS

By James B. Agle (agles@k2.kirtland.cc.mi.us) (18 October 1996)

History

Gideon Ruiz was a brilliant biochemist living in Miami and working for a major medical research corporation. He was young, ambitious, and remarkably talented, and his colleagues knew it was only a matter of time before he caught the attention of the corporate owners and was moved on to bigger and better things. They were right. MedTech Research Unlimited was owned, through dozens of other corporations, by an ancient and powerful Ventrue named Javier. One night, the elder was strolling along the beach, watching the way the moonlight shined on the blood slowly seeping from his arm. His meal that night had been a young gang member, and the morsel had managed to wound him. No small feat, that. Javier stared into the silver-lit blood, and mused how odd it was that one drop of this substance could so change a person. He determined to discover exactly what properties vampiric blood had that modern science could discern. Two months later, Gideon arrived at his lab to find a refrigerated blood sample, and a note from the higher-ups telling him to see what he could learn about it.

The young chemist thought that he was being tested for possible promotion, and, in an odd sort of way, it turned out that he was. Weeks went by, and he was amazed at what he had. He sent requests for more sample to work with, as he needed to run more exacting tests, and more samples were sent.

That it was blood could not be disputed. Closer examination proved that it was human blood, but every DNA scan Gideon ran came up with a different gene pattern. It was as if someone had taken blood samples from ten or twenty different people and mingled it, but then, if they had done that, wouldn't the samples die? Blood type tests revealed an impossible result, that being that the blood was Type A+, A-, O, B-, and AB- all at once. Further samples sent from the corporate owners revealed different blood types, but always at least three varying types per sample. What's more, none of the differing samples were even trying to reject each other. The red blood cells would, after twenty or thirty hours at room temperature, begin to slowy break down. The white blood cells were positively creepy. Gideon found that they were between ten and fifteen hundred times more powerful than normal human cells. In fact, in one test he added a large dose of salt to a sample, an act that would normally kill every cell in the solution. Instead, the white cells formed a barricade and kept the other cells safe, seemingly immune to the salt themselves. The salt was actually forced to the top of the solution and not permitted to diffuse at all. And where were the antibodies? There should be at least a few. But no matter what disease he added to the samples, the mysterious blood either destroyed the infection outright, or the virus would die itself for no discernible reason.

He exposed the blood to every harmful effect he could come up with for days, including radiation, and nothing except open flame had any effect whatsoever. The flame had been odd, though. The blood itself had started to burn.

In the end, it was an accident that revealed the truth to Gideon. A temp was called in to replace a sick secretary at the lab one day, and, overeager to get to work, any work, the young lady was driving way too fast as she arrived. The amphetamines she took that morning to help herself wake up didn't help much, either. Nor did the fact that her ancient Buick had needed new brakes two thousand miles ago. Bottom line, she crashed into the building, destroying quite a lot of Gideon's ground-floor lab, and spilling fresh morning Florida sunshine onto Gideon's samples.

The fire nearly destroyed the lab, and Gideon was there to see it all.

Mrs. Ruiz hadn't raised many stupid children, and within four weeks of intensive work, Gideon realized what it was he had. The home office was supplying him with Vampiric blood. Adding samples of fresh blood to the mystery blood proved it, at least in Gideon's mind. The new blood was absorbed, consumed, and within seconds came to resemble the original sample.

When he filed the report to the home office, they scoffed at his results, and were infuriated that they had been paying him for the last two months to make up lies, or to make such stupid errors with his work. He was summarily fired.

Two weeks later, a copy of Gideon's report came to Javier's hands. Javier was amazed at what he read, and at the insight shown by this mortal. The Ventrue was on his private plane and winging his way to Miami within an hour.

Once ensconced at the Miami Majestic Hotel, it was a simple enough matter to Summon the chemist to him, and the two of them spoke for hours. Before dawn, Gideon was rewarded for his fine work by receiving the Embrace. Javier was so impressed by Gideon that he embraced him himself, granting him the honor of standing among the ranks of the sixth generation. Javier was himself fifth.

Years went by, and Javier, annoyed by the regular incursions of Sabbat into the city, returned to Madrid. Gideon chose to stay. He was now a wealthy man, a gift from his sire, and owned the very company that so recently had fired him. He continued his research in the medical field, but for new reasons now. His particular feeding requirement was that his prey had to be sick. Ill. Diseased. And it sickened him to be so dependent on such a demeaning prey requirement. And so he sought a cure. Not for disease, and not for the need for such blood that existed in him, but for vampirism. He sought to find a way to restore his vampiric blood to its former human state.

Finally, five years later, in 1991, he thought he had succeeded. The trick was to overwhelm the vampiric blood's resistance to outside influences, to make it burn out everything it had just to survive. Done properly, it should leave him mortal once more. Several doses were tried, Gideon injecting himself full of every noxious and dangerous substance he could think of. Perhaps it was his own Fortitude that proved is downfall. Perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to thrive on disease that foiled his attempt. Perhaps he just goofed. Either way, he found his vampiric threshold for disease, and exeeded it.

The result wasn't a cure, but a new and terrible infection. And not just an infection of the blood, but of the soul. He had made two progeny, both at his sire's request, and at the same time he was transfigured, so were they.

Gideon was remade as the incarnation of Disease, a walking infection. He suffered the symptoms of dozens of diseases, ranging from the common cold to leprosy, changing constantly, cycling through some bizarre pattern. Worse, whenever he fed, and he no longer needed to feed on the sick, the mortal he drank from caught whatever disease he was suffering from at the time. Other kindred shunned him, and laughed at the formerly proud Ventrue, now a sniffling, sneezing, runny-nosed freak. His own sire rejected him, saying "I don't know what you've done to yourself, or to your progeny, or how you accomplished it. Nor do I care. Until you cure yourself of this 'embarrassment' you are no longer Ventrue. Begone, foul Leper."

And so he was outcast. Worse than Caitiff. He was forced to flee Miami, since his former fellows in the Camarilla would no longer protect him from the Sabbat. And the Sabbat feared and loathed him just for existing. Vampiric disease in any form is anathema to them, and they did all they could to destroy him. It is a credit to Gideon that he managed to escape at all. Nobody knows where he resides now, but in the last five years, Lepers have been seen all over Europe and the Americas. They seem to be searching for a cure, and at least one rumor states that they seek the Salubri, hoping that if there are any left, they may be the Lepers' salvation.

Nicknames

Pusbags, Sickies, Snotmen, Sneezers, etc.

Appearance

Not pretty. Most Lepers are men, in their mid-thirties, although this isn't always the case. They can be male or female, young or old. Whatever else they are, they are sick. Know a Leper by his runny nose, his puffy eyes, raspy throats, fevers, sneezing, coughing, rashes, cold sores, and all the myriad symptoms of disease. Curiously, most Lepers seem to possess the merit Baby Face, as coughing wouldn't really be a problem when you don't breathe anyway, and fevers wouldn't inconvenience one with no body temp.

Haven

Any place where they can look for a cure. Some follow evangelical circuits, others lurk about in hospitals. Still more seek out gypsies or psychic healers. And still more just find a place they can be left alone in their misery.

Background

In life, nearly every Leper was a healer of some kind. Doctors, faith healers, herbalists, accupuncture specialists, and so forth, and so on. Other cases exist when the neonate was a cruel monster who rejoiced in spreading disease like one deviant freak who infected a blood bank's supply with HIV. It seemed poetic justice to have him suffer endless disease as his punishment. Now his only hope is to join the others in the search for a cure.

Character Creation

Mental Attributes are almost always primary. Common knowledges include Medicine, Chemistry, Herbalism, and even Occult. Many have three or four dots in Generation, as their founder was Sixth Generation and they've only had two years to spread. It also helps if the new Leper has a strong will, as he could face centuries of bleary eyes and an eternity of laryngitis.

Clan Disciplines

Dominate, Fortitude, Pestilence

Weaknesses

Disease plagues the Lepers the way madness follows the Malkavs. Not only do the poor souls constantly suffer from the disease (-1 to all social rolls), but they spread their illness to whomever they feed on. All have the Flaw: Disease Carrier. Eighth Generation Lepers and above transmit whatever illness they are suffering at the time, Ninth and lower have one particular disease they transmit, although their own symptoms will still vary from day to day. These cases are rarely fatal, unless too much blood is taken. It's hard to fight off pneumonia when you're three pints low. For this reason, many lepers tend to feed on the terminally ill, granting them the release they crave. The Sabbat fear and loathe everything they've heard of this bloodline, and actively seek them out to destroy them, each war party knowing that if they are infected, they are not to return. The Tremere have argued to the rest of the Camarilla that these kindred endanger them all, their spreading of disease a danger to the Masquerade.

Organization

Lepers maintain contact with their sires, and report to them any possible cures they have found, and whatever results they find in their experiments. In this way, should a cure be found, it will work its way up the ladder to Gideon, and when he is cured, it should cure them all. What happens to them then is anyone's guess, but they agree that it can't be worse than what they have now.

Stereotypes

Mortals: We understand suffering as few others can. If it is ever in our power to ease ones suffering, it is our duty to do so. If that means ending their lives, when there is no hope for them, then so be it.

Assamites: There's a rumor going around that Javier hired one of these Arabic-type killers to go after Gideon a while back. (sniff.) Same rumor says Gideon sent him back to Saudi with a nasty case of MS. As long as they leave us alone, we're happy.

Brujah: If anybody really deserves migraines, these punks do. The old ones are okay, though.

Caitiff: More outcasts. They're okay in my book.

Followers of Set: Never met one. I've heard they're into corruption, though. Bet they'd love me, eh? (achoo!)

Giovanni: One of these once ripped my soul right out of my body. And I was so glad my soul wasn't sick too, I was crying for days. Yeah, they're creepy, but so what? At least they don't try to fake sympathy.

Malkavian: Don't get me started. (hack, cough) They make no sense; they can't offer any real help, and if you don't piss 'em off, they leave you alone. So don't worry about 'em.

Nosferatu: Damn, but I like these guys. They know what it's like to be outcast and reviled, you know? And nobody's better at helping you find equipment you need. (snffle sniffle snort) Excuse me. And when you really need a place to lay low, ask a Nos.

Ravnos: Bastard took my wallet. I see him again, I give him shingles.

Salubri: I've heard they had healing powers. God, I'd sell my soul to find one.

Toreador: (Wachoo!!) The Nos are right; they're too prissy for words. A little mucus and they treat you like, well, like a leper. Sheesh.

Tremere: Oh, you mean the clan that wants to see us all killed just because we're sick? The clan that slaughtered the only kindred who may have been able to help us? The clan that has access to all sorts of (cough, cough, cough) all sorts of magical secrets and shit but won't help just a little? Love 'em. Oh, yeah. Cancer's too good for 'em.

Ventrue: Mister, I am a Ventrue. I'm a little under the weather, that's all. When I get better, you'll see. They'll take us back. You'll see.